


you can't change what's inside your head

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [155]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, newt geiszler: king of idiocy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: post-Drift, Newt avoids Hermann for as long as he can, not wanting to deal with the other's reaction to what he saw in the Drift
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [155]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Kudos: 53





	you can't change what's inside your head

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "As Hermann walks towards him, Newt starts to panic. How is he supposed to act around him? Should he get up to greet him? Should he hug him? A handshake? No, too formal. A wave? Definitely not. A fist bump? If he wanted to look like an idiot. He rubs his sweaty palms on his pants and keeps dread-filled eyes on Hermann. Is this seriously their relationship now? Newt hated feeling like a lovesick teen when he actually was one, it’s a million times worse now that he’s supposed to have grown out of it"

The Drift reveals everything; that’s what they tell you. Newt never really believed it, honestly—it sounded, well, like _bullshit._

But.

Well.

He wasn’t really expecting for them to get thrown right into his memory of their first meeting.

_It’s autumn; the sun shines in through the windows of the café softly, and outside, the trees are turning red. Newt’s waiting in a booth for Hermann._

_They’ve decided to meet in person; Newt is in the city for a conference, and Hermann lives here, so, it makes perfect sense. They both_ want _to meet._

 _It’s five minutes until the agreed upon time, and Newt’s chewed his fingernails to stubs already, and his hands are hot. He’s seen a photo of Hermann before, sure, but that’s not the same thing as actually meeting_ in person. _There’s a lot more at stake here._

_Finally, he catches sight of him; tall and lanky, threading his way through the cafe, cane held in one hand._

_As Hermann walks towards him, Newt starts to panic._

_How is he supposed to act around him? Should he hug him? A handshake? No, too formal. A wave? Definitely not. A fist bump? If he wanted to look like an_ idiot.

_Paralysed with indecision, Newt does nothing; and Hermann sits across from him, smiling awkwardly. “Newton,” he greets._

Holy shit your voice is hot, _Newt thinks, and then,_ oh my god you dress like a grandpa, that’s so fucking cute _which, in peak Geiszlerian fashion, comes out as “Oh my god you dress like a grandpa, holy shit.”_

_Needless to say, things go downhill from there, leaving Newt heartbroken and guilty in a tiny café in Berlin._

Hermann tries to ask him about it, afterwards, but Newt skilfully avoids the question, and then basically runs off to hide in his rooms for as long as possible.

Newt isn’t an idiot; he knows that he’s not going to be able to avoid Hermann forever. Really, he shouldn’t be avoiding Hermann at all—the dude was _literally_ in his head less than six days ago, and Drift partners are supposed to, like, communicate and shit.

Newt is…not really keen on that? Like, at all, frankly. 

It all started—well, technically, it all started like, thirty-three years ago, when his mom decided to leave him with his dad and Illia and go back to her career as an opera singer in Berlin rather than hang around as a kid, and the ensuing abandonment has kept with him throughout his life. But. Like. That’s not when _this_ specific “it” started.

No, _this_ it started when, at age twenty-three, Newt started writing to one Hermann Gottlieb, then sans PhD, and fell sort of, kind of, madly head over heels in academic and intellectual love with him.

He wasn’t, like, a lovesick teen or anything, because, uh, he was in his early twenties, as much as lots of people often assumed that he _wasn’t,_ but there _may_ have been a few instances of doodling _Doctor Newton Gottlieb_ in the backs of some of his notebooks. Once or twice. Maybe three times.

The point is, he has, like. A _good_ reason for wanting to avoid Hermann right now after having basically bared his soul to him. A selfish reason, maybe, but a _good_ one. 

Maybe it’s a bit of an overreaction to bolt just about the instant he feels Hermann coming near—ghost Drift is handy like that—but he really prefers it to the alternative option, which is running into Herman and having to Talk.

Yes, it deserves the capital t. It’s not a talk, it’s a _Talk._

However, he _does_ have to get work done, which means going back to the lab—he’s been putting off filing reports and shit since the Drift with Hermann, because he sort of keeps all of his stuff in the lab, and being in the lab means running a high risk of running into Hermann, and, yeah, _no._

But he’s going to have to chance it, today, because he’s just turned on his phone to find _this_ lovely situation: two missed calls from Herc, who’s the acting Marshal, as well as multiple voicemails, four texts, an email, and another text, this one from Tendo, telling him to, quote, _get your ass in gear and file those reports before Herc starts complaining to me even more than he already is._

Newt sighs, and unlocks his phone; texts a quick, _i’ll get on that_ to Herc, an apology to Tendo, who really does deserve better, and then uncurls himself from the half-foetal position he’s curled himself into in the night, half because it’s fucking _freezing_ even with the thick blanket he’s got and half because it lowkey tricks his exhausted mind into thinking that there’s someone in bed besides just him.

_Anyway._

He pulls on his clothes and gives himself a cursory once-over in the bathroom mirror, dragging a hand through his hair to try and get rid of the bedhead—or, at least, tame it so that it looks artful—, and heads on down the halls, crossing his fingers and hoping he won’t run into Hermann.

“Oh, sweet,” he says, with just one corner left to turn before he’s in the lab, “no He—”

And then he turns the corner and sees Hermann, for the first time, in almost a week.

He’s bent over something at his desk, and hasn’t noticed Newt, which Newt is glad for, and then promptly fucking _ruins_ by tripping over a box of Hermann’s chalk he squirrelled away on his side a few months back and then left laying out in the middle of the walkway and letting out a sharp yelp before he catches himself; but it’s too late and Hermann’s already looked up and spotted him.

“Newton,” he says, and rises; and Newt gets a terrible, horrible, _awful_ de ja vu moment. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement; given in an even tone; and, if Newt didn’t know him any better, he’d think that Hermann was just… _saying_ it, but he does, so he can see the little twitch of his lip, the way his eyes are slightly narrowed. He’s…he’s upset about it.

Newt swallows. “Uh, funny story,” he says. “I was. Sick. With the flu. Gotta, um. Gotta stay in my room, um—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Newton,” Hermann snaps; and closes the distance between them rapidly. He’s quick little fucker when he wants to be—Newt always forgets that. Unfortunately, it leaves him to try and backpedal away, which winds up with his back hitting the wall. Hermann’s still talking, still advancing. “I _saw_ inside your head, Newton, you cannot—you cannot, don’t you, don’t you _dare_ pretend that I didn’t.”

Newt bites his lip; gives up on trying to act like he doesn’t know what Hermann is talking about. “Look, dude, can we just—not? Like, this is, um. Kind of embarrassing for me. I’d _really_ rather we just forget all about it, okay—?”

“What if I don’t want to?” Hermann interrupts, and he’s only a pace or so away from Newt. 

Newt blinks. “What.”

“What if I don’t want to forget all about it,” Hermann repeats. “I—Newton, what I saw in your head…I don’t want to forget that. It…to have confirmation…to know that my, my— _regard_ for you, that it wasn’t, _isn’t_ one-sided…I don’t want to forget that, Newton.”

“ _What,_ ” Newt says, again; his brain trying desperately to understand what Hermann’s saying and kind of stalling on it.

Hermann swallows; eyes fluttering shut, for a brief moment; lashes thick and dark against his pale skin. When he opens them, his face is more unguarded than Newt’s seen in—well, _ever._

“I…I was upset that you were avoiding me,” Hermann says, “because I wanted to talk about it. Because I…I wanted to tell you that I felt the same, Newton.”

“…holy shit,” Newt whispers, eyes wide. “Um. _Holy shit._ ”

“Yes, well—”

“Can I kiss you?” Newt interrupts. “I mean—like, um. We should talk about it, obviously, but you kind of just told me you like me back so. Can I kiss you?”

“…alright,” Hermann says, and Newt pushes away from the wall, stands on his tip-toes, and presses a—first!—kiss to Hermann’s lips. When Newt pulls away, Hermann says, “I’m still upset that you were avoiding me.”

Newt shrugs. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “Um. Taking a stab at being like, a functional and responsible adult here—do you want to grab something to eat and go sit on the sofa and talk it out? I haven’t had breakfast yet, but I’ve got a few sandwiches in the fridge.”

Hermann’s nose wrinkles. “You keep _specimens_ in there,” he says.

“Yeah, and I keep the food in _sealed containers,_ ” Newt says, rolling his eyes. “So—waddaya say?”

“…for once, your proposal is… _rational,_ ” Hermann says. Newt grins and makes towards the fridge.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
